


soon you'll get better

by goldenthunderstorms



Category: The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue Series - Mackenzi Lee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Kinda, M/M, Pneumonia, Sick Character, Sickfic, Songfic, THEY'RE MARRIED!!, because I said so, better communication because they're almost 30 here, no bridge or pre-chorus because I didn't want to, percy's epilepsy, signs point to no, sorta - Freeform, will arwyn ever write a fic that doesn't mention florence and the machine or taylor swift?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:48:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22537267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenthunderstorms/pseuds/goldenthunderstorms
Summary: Percy just hmphs in response, leaning his head on my shoulder. “I feel like shit,” he says.I comb the fingers of my free hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, darling. When we get home, I’ll make you soup.”“That would make me feel worse,” Percy says, laughing a little.“Fine then, suffer.”He laughs a little more, then starts coughing. He starts hacking a bit, then clears his throat and sits back looking red in the face. “The sooner this is over, the better,” he says.I nod. Stay positive.a songfic based on Taylor Swift's Soon You'll Get Better, Percy is pretty sick and how they deal with it
Relationships: Felicity Montague & Henry "Monty" Montague, Henry "Monty" Montague/Percy Newton
Comments: 20
Kudos: 46





	soon you'll get better

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit different than my normal songfics but I hope y'all enjoy anyway  
> bold = song lyric

**The buttons of my coat were tangled in my hair**

**In doctor's office lighting, I didn't tell you I was scared**

“Positive,” I remind myself. “Be positive.”

I’m waiting in a room at the doctor's office for Percy to come back. He left with the doctor a while ago for some sort of scan.

Percy has been complaining about feeling congested, chest pains, and trouble breathing lately. This morning he had a high fever and his chest hurt so badly it hurt to breathe, so I brought him to the doctor. I thought it might be something minor, a virus that can be easily treated. Percy’s epilepsy weakens his immune system so sometimes things that seem serious are just normal things taking a bit more of a toll on him.

The door opens and I get hopeful but it’s only Felicity.

“Is there a diagnosis yet?” she asks. I had called Felicity to get her med student opinion and she said to see a doctor and she’d come when she got out of class.

“Not yet,” I say. “Percy is getting a scan right now.” Saying it out loud makes it seem more concerning than before. That, along with the furrow of Felicity’s brow.

She sits next to me. “Did they say what they think it is?”

“An infection? I think?” I say.

Felicity makes a face and I think she’s about to say something mean but the door opens.

Percy steps in followed by a doctor. Neither of them looks very relieved.

“Oh, hi, Feli,” Percy says.

“Is this . . . ?” The doctor asks.

“Sister-in-law,” Percy says.

“Ah.”

“Do we have results for Percy?” Felicity interrupts, straight to the point.

 _Positive,_ I remind myself again.

“Yes,” the doctor says, pulling out some papers. “We believe that it’s pneumonia.”

“Pneumonia,” Felicity echoes quietly.

“That . . . that’s not bad. It’s just like a more severe cold, isn’t it?” I ask, hopeful.

Before the doctor can answer, Felicity makes a sound like a scoff. “Monty, pneumonia is more than just a cold. Even perfectly healthy people can be affected for weeks on end. Considering how Percy’s epilepsy weakens his immune system, this can be a serious problem.”

I must look panicked because the doctor cuts in.

“Now, now,” he says. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Mister Newton is still a healthy young man despite his epilepsy. We’re just going to put him on some antibiotics and have him come back in a week or two for a check-in. It may last a bit longer than normal but I have no doubt that he’ll recover after steady treatment. There’s no reason to worry. Not yet, anyway.”

Percy nods, though he looks like he’s having a hard time believing it too.

“I’ll be back with your prescription, Mister Newton,” the doctor says before slipping out.

Percy sits on the big chair-slash-bed. I hop up there with him and set my chin on his shoulder.

Felicity seems to make an effort to smooth out her features before she says, “He’s probably right. I’m sure it’s not going to be anything _really_ serious. My mind went straight to the worst possible outcomes but . . .”

“Exactly,” I say. I take Percy’s hand. He hasn’t said a word. “Perce is just gonna be sick for a bit. But you’ll rest up and it’ll be fine in two or three weeks, yeah?” When Percy doesn’t answer, I gently butt my head against his shoulder. “Right, Perce?”

“Yeah,” Percy replies quietly.

I squeeze his hand.

Felicity steps out with a mumbled excuse about finding a bathroom.

“Hey, Perce, look at me,” I prompt. He does. “Really, things are going to be fine.” I lean my forehead against his.

Percy nods. “I know, I’m just not looking forward to three more weeks of this,” he says. He gives me a trying smile.

I lean in to kiss him but he puts his free hand on my chest. 

“Hold on, I’m not getting you sick too. You’re a monster to deal with when you’re sick.”

“First of all, I resent that,” I say, sitting back. “Second of all, I think I would have caught whatever you have by now if it was contagious.”

Percy just hmphs in response, leaning his head on my shoulder. “I feel like shit,” he says.

I comb the fingers of my free hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, darling. When we get home, I’ll make you soup.”

“That would make me feel worse,” Percy says, laughing a little.

“Fine then, suffer.”

He laughs a little more, then starts coughing. He starts hacking a bit, then clears his throat and sits back looking red in the face. “The sooner this is over, the better,” he says.

I nod. _Stay positive_.

**That was the first time we were there**

“Bullshit,” Felicity says over the phone. “Still?”

“Yeah,” I say quietly.

I’m standing in the hallway at nearly two in the morning. The doctors and nurses just walk around me. Some of them recognize me by now and eye me with pity. This is the second time we’ve come back to the hospital since Percy was first diagnosed a little over a month ago. The first time we returned they only kept him for two days to observe him and sent him home. But things aren’t getting any better and we’ve been here for three days since Percy came in for a check-in.

“Well, what are they saying?” Felicity asks from the other end of the call.

I shrug though I know she can’t see it. “They’re talking about trying some different antibiotics? They can only really treat symptoms, you know? If Percy’s body can’t fight it off . . .” I trail off. I don’t know what the end of that sentence should be.

“Yeah,” Felicity says. “Percy’s otherwise in good health, though. He’s not even thirty, he exercises, . . .” she trails off too.

“Feli, can you be my sister instead of the med student right now?” I ask. I’m tired of having medical stuff talked at me.

“Sorry,” she says. We’re silent for a few minutes. “Should I come—?”

“No,” I say. “Percy doesn’t want anyone visiting. He fucking hates this.”

“He must be miserable.”

“You have no idea.”

“I’m really sorry, Monty.”

“It’ll be fine,” I say, though I’m finding that harder to believe. “I should probably go back to Percy’s room. He’s asleep. I just wanted to keep you updated.”

“Text me if something happens.”

“Of course,” I say. “Goodnight, Feli.”

“‘Night, Monty.”

I hang up and slip back into Percy’s room. He’s sleeping fitfully, hooked up to machines.

I sit back in my chair next to the bed. I couldn’t sleep in this chair if I wanted to.

Percy stirs. “Monty?” he asks, rolling over.

“Right here, love,” I say, reaching out for his hand.

Percy laces our fingers, looking over at me through bleary eyes. “Where did you go?”

“I went to call Felicity,” I reply. “She wanted to know how you’re doing.”

“Shitty,” Percy mumbles. That’s almost always his answer.

“I know, darling.” I squeeze his hand.

Percy scoots over. “Come lay down with me.”

I oblige, in no position to deny him anything. I squeeze myself into the spot on the bed and let him lean on me. He nuzzles his face into the crook of my shoulder. A sleepy Percy is a cuddly Percy.

“I love you, Monty,” Percy says without prompting.

“I love you too, Perce,” I say. “What brought this up?” I can’t help asking.

“I can’t just tell you that I love you?” Percy asks, face still buried in my shoulder.

“You can,” I say. “It just seems like there’s something else on your mind.”

Percy shrugs. “I’m just glad I have you.”

“What? To leech body heat off of?”

Percy chuckles. “Something like that,” he says. We’re silent for a while and I think Percy is asleep again until he says, “Do you remember when we got married?”

“Of course,” I say.

“That was the best day of my life.”

I smile and kiss the top of Percy’s head. Damn him for being soft. “Mine too, Perce.”

“If anything happens—”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“But if something _does_ ,” Percy continues, “I’m just glad that you’re here. No matter what happens, I’ll be okay if I have you here.”

I don’t know what to say to that. I know Percy isn’t really thinking about what he’s saying. He’s barely awake. After a few moments of silence, Percy sits up, kisses my cheek, and rolls over (because no matter what he says, he likes being the little spoon). His breathing even outs in seconds and I know he’s asleep again. 

**Holy orange bottles, each night, I pray to you**

“Can you not do that?” Percy asks, watching me. I line up the medicine bottles on the counter against the wall. Percy has four different ones to take right now with the infection going on two and a half months. He’s been alternating between home and the hospital, spending more time at the hospital lately. But they let him come home for the past few days.

I look up. “Do what?”

“ _That_ ,” he says, gesturing at the bottles.

“I was just straightening them,” I say. I do it every time. Percy always just takes the medicine and tosses the bottle back onto the counter and I come in later and straighten them.

Percy hates having me lurk around his hospital room all the time. He says watching me sit there and look stressed stresses him out, so I’ve been kicked out on more than one occasion. Rather than drinking, I’ve turned to completely cleaning and rearranging our apartment. It looks better now than it probably ever has and I hate to admit that keeping it that way has become something short of an obsession.

Percy wrinkles his nose.

“Does it bother you?” I ask.

“Just . . . do you have to do that in front of me?”

“I didn’t realize it was a problem.”

“Of course not,” Percy says.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I ask.

Percy shakes his head. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

“What?” I’m confused and I feel like the situation is slipping away from me. I didn’t think Percy was bothered by that. I don’t see why he is.

“Why are you so worried about keeping the place neat all of a sudden? I usually have to badger you to do the dishes.”

“I thought it was a productive way to keep my mind off things.”

“Right,” Percy says, getting out of his chair.

“Are you upset with me or something?” I ask, following as he steps out of the kitchenette.

“Not at all,” Percy says, which means he is.

“Perce,” I say. “What is this really about?”

“What do you _think_ it’s about, Henry?”

Shit. Henry. He’s really mad. “I don’t understand.”

“You never do. You never understood, Monty. Just forget it.”

“Percy, just tell me! Make me understand!”

“Fine!” Percy stops and turns to face me. “I’m tired of being your sick husband! I’m tired of you always being sorry for me and worrying about me! It’s just like when you found out that I had epilepsy. You don’t even look at me the same anymore. I just want things to be normal again. Sometimes, I don’t even feel like a person with you. I just feel like this half-dead thing that you’re stuck feeling sorry for!”

“I’m sorry, Perce, I-“

“Don’t fucking apologize! I’m so fucking tired of this! Of apologies, and well wishes, and sympathy! I’m fucking tired of it!” Percy snaps. He stops, takes a few deep breaths, and closes his eyes. “No, I’m sorry. I get it. I know why you’re like this. If you were dying, I know I would be—“

“You are _not_ dying,” I say and it comes out strangled.

“Shut _up_ , Monty!”

I don’t say anything, just let Percy get this all out. Percy never screams at me. Ever. He never yells or shouts or blows up. I know if he’s doing it now, this must have been bothering him for a long time and he’s really upset. I’ve spent enough arguments with Percy to know when I shouldn’t fire back and should just stay quiet.

“It,” he starts again, voice shaking, “has been months since my diagnosis, Monty. And you haven’t looked at me the same since. I know you’re worried and you have every right to be. But I’m tired of my sickness being the most important thing. Our anniversary is coming up and we haven’t talked about it at all! When are you going to start treating me like me again?!”

I’m still silent. He’s right. I can’t argue with him. But maybe this is what he means. He’s angry, vying for an argument because we always have to argue to work these things out. But I can’t even take the bait because I’m too worried about him.

“God fucking damnit,” Percy sighs, leaning against the wall and putting his face in his hands. He stays like this for a few beats and we stand in silence. He looks up and I’m still staring at him. “Please, Monty, say something. Scream at me. Just do _something_ other than look at me like that!”

I want to react, to say something. But I can’t focus on anything other than the way that Percy’s lips seem to be turning blue. “Do you feel okay, Perce?” I can’t help asking. I look at his hands and his fingers are blue, too.

“Really? Even now?”

“Percy, you’re turning blue,” I say, but it’s like he doesn’t hear me.

“Talk to me about something else! Anything else!”

“Percy! You’re turning blue!” I shout over him.

“What?” he says. And then he passes out.

**Desperate people find faith, so now I pray to Jesus too**

I’m reliving a tableau I’ve lived multiple times by now. Percy is asleep in the hospital bed, hooked up to a bunch of machines. I’m sitting in a chair beside the bed, anxious out of my mind. The pneumonia was limiting his oxygen, making his fingers and lips turn blue. They took off Percy’s wedding ring and put it on the side table saying things about circulation. While I’m not one to believe in omens, it still bothers me.

Percy stirs and I sit straight up.

“Jesus,” he mutters, sitting up. He pulls off the oxygen mask. I’m not sure if he’s allowed to do that but I don’t stop him. “Why does my head hurt?”

“You hit it when you passed out,” I say.

“Oh,” Percy says.

I’m silent for a few minutes. Then I ask, “How do you feel?”

Percy lets out a sigh. “Monty, please,” is all he says.

I shut up.

“Look, Monty, can you just go?”

“You’re asking me to leave? Right now?” I ask, surprised.

“I’m asking for some space. Just for a little bit.”

I want to argue but I don’t have any kind of argument.

“Monty,” he says again. He won’t look at me.

“Yeah, sure,” I say, standing. I want to be angry but I’m just hurt and confused. I slip out instead of storming out like I want to.

I find myself driving around aimlessly. I don’t want to go home to an empty apartment, so clean you can’t tell that anyone lives there. I can’t go back to Percy. I don’t want to go bother Felicity with this.

For the first time in a few years, I want to get absolutely wasted. But that’s not a good idea, especially if I want Percy to stop being mad at me. So I do something almost as stupid.

I see a church, a bit out of the way, and I stop there.

The church is silent. My footsteps echo on the hardwood floors. It’s not some old cathedral, just a modern sanctuary. There’s a screen over the pulpit and the chairs are far more comfortable than the wooden pews I had to sit in when I was a kid. Though I don’t understand why they do it, for once I appreciate churchgoers leaving doors unlocked.

I don’t think I’ve been in a church since I was fourteen, before I went to boarding school. When I got expelled and subsequently outed to my father, we stopped going. But I’m restless and desperate.

I sit in the front row, nearest to the altar. It’s a little surreal. I feel like I’m 14 again, a scared kid who feels like he might burst into flames when he walks in one day. The church my father liked to attend made no efforts to hide its bigotry. Maybe my father thought they could preach the gay out of me.

I never really felt religious when I was younger. I never really felt like I was allowed to be because I’m bisexual. This feels like a last resort.

“Look,” I start, staring at the altar. Then I almost laugh at myself. I feel stupid. “I don’t know if you’re listening, or if you’re even real, but I’m kind of out of options.” 

There’s a sound and I freeze. I glance around and there’s no one there. Being seen by some stranger would make this all so much worse. After a few beats, I continue.

“You can’t let Percy die,” I say. The words come out strangled. I’ve had small, panicked, irrational moments where I suspected that this sickness would be terminal but things are getting real now. I can’t stop thinking about what Percy said during our fight this morning. _If you were dying_ like he thinks that he’s going to. Now, I’m desperate. I’m so desperate that I’m praying to a god I don’t believe in.

“I know I don’t have any right to ask you for anything. I’ve done a lot of things wrong and I know that means you’re supposed to be angry with me or something. But Percy hasn’t done anything wrong.” My voice shakes like I’m about to cry. I’m determined not to. “Percy deserves every good thing in this world and I’m trying so hard to give it to him. So if you’re real, if you’re listening, I’m begging you. Please, please, please don’t let Percy die. I’ll do anything.”

I wait like I expect some sign, some miracle that shows me there is a god who can save Percy. But there’s nothing. I bury my face in my hands, trying so hard not to cry.

“May I sit?”

I nearly jump out of the seat. I look up to see a tall, middle-aged black woman in a pantsuit standing by the end of the row.

“Oh, uh—“

“If you’re going to break into my church, you could at least let me sit with you,” she says. She has a southern accent like she lived in the south when she was younger and the accent has faded a little.

“Oh, I’m sorry. This is yours?” I say. It’s a stupid question.

She laughs a little and sits beside me, nodding. “I’m the preacher here. I don’t mind that you’re here. It’s not uncommon for those in need to come to church. You’re just lucky I was in my office or the doors would have been locked. But I felt like I needed to be here. Now I know why.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

“So, who is this Percy? Brother? Friend?”

“Husband,” I say and brace myself for her reaction. I’m used to homophobia from people who are Christian. My father was like that, though he really only seemed Christian on Sundays and days when he thought I was being too gay.

But the woman just nods. “And your husband is . . . ?”

“Sick,” I say, “really sick.” I don’t know why I’m telling her this.

“You think he’s going to die?”

I nod. “He thinks so. And he’s been sick for a while now.”

She’s silent for a moment. “What’s your name?”

“Monty.”

“How old are you, Monty?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“When did you and your husband get married?”

“When we were twenty-six. We’ve been together since we were eighteen.” She nods and I add, “Why do you need to know all this?”

She shrugs. “I’m a preacher. Part of my job is knowing people’s business.”

“Right,” I say.

“You’re not religious, are you, Monty?” she asks.

“Not really,” I admit. “But I’m a little desperate.”

“Did you grow up in church?”

I nod. “My parents weren’t hardcore or anything, but my father brought us all to church until I was about fifteen.”

“Hm,” is all she says.

“Well, what’s your name?” I ask.

“Bennie,” she says. I must make some kind of face because she laughs. “I know, I know. I was named after my father.”

I nod. Again, I don’t know what to say.

“I don’t know how much this will mean to you, but I’ll keep your husband in my prayers. If you’re alright with it, I’ll ask the congregation to pray as well.”

I nod. “Yes, that . . . that’s fine, thank you.” I twist my wedding band on my finger and she notices.

“You love your husband a lot,” she observes.

“Of course I do,” I say. “I don’t know who I’d be without Percy.” It’s true. Even when we’re angry with each other, he’s the only person I want to be with. I might be dead if not for Percy.

Bennie smiles. “I loved someone that much when I was younger. I let her get away because I was scared and it was a mistake.” She puts a hand on my arm. “But you’re going to hold onto Percy, alright? I want you to have faith: in God, in fate, in chance, in the universe, whatever you want. You just have to believe that he’ll get better soon. We hold on to the people we love by having faith in them.”

She stands, patting my shoulder. “Spend as much time here as you need. Just lock the door on your way out, alright? I hope things work out with your husband, Monty.” With that, she leaves, the doors shutting heavily behind her. 

I sit there and consider her words for a long time. I might pray a little more. I don’t know if it does any good. I sit there for I don’t know how long until I get a text from Percy.

_I’m sorry. I love you. Please come back?_

**And I say to you...**

**Ooh-ah**

**Soon, you'll get better**

When I get back to the hospital, Percy looks better. He doesn’t have the mask on anymore and his ring is back on.

“Hey, Perce,” I say.

Percy smiles at me, a little sadly, but it’s a smile. “Hey.”

“Are you . . . ?”

“Better,” Percy says. “Come sit.”

I feel like I’m treading on thin ice. I sit in the chair next to the bed.

“I meant what I said this morning,” Percy says. “But I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’m sorry. I just hate you pitying me all the time, you know?”

“Perce, I do. I completely understand.” Even though it’s been years, growing up in a household like mine for the first roughly twenty years of your life isn’t something you forget. I remember being bruised and bloody after dealing with my father and avoiding Percy because he would only ever look at me like I was broken. I remember how he danced around me like I was fragile. I hated it. “I didn’t realize. I’m sorry.”

Percy reaches for my hand and kisses the back of it. “I hope you know I expect the apartment to be cleaned like that even when I’m not dying anymore.”

I ignore the dying comment. “Only if you’re home to help me.”

“Of course,” Percy says. “I promise that I’ll help you as soon as they let me out of here.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

**You'll get better soon**

**'Cause you have to**

The next day, they let Percy come back home. I hope it’ll be for a while this time. He’s definitely not better yet, but he’s not bad right now. Right now, he’s cooking dinner because I’m not allowed to. Percy says that the only things in the kitchen I’m allowed to operate are the coffeemaker and the microwave. He’s playing his boring classical music but I’m not in any position to stop him. I’ll listen to Tchaikovsky all hours of the day if it means having Percy here.

Percy seems a lot better than he’s been in a while and I plan to make the most of it. While Percy is stirring the chicken and dumplings, I come up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist, setting my chin on his shoulder. Percy smiles, turns to kiss my temple, and continues cooking. “I thought I told you what happens when you distract me from cooking.”

“It hasn’t happened yet,” I point out.

Percy scoffs but doesn’t make any effort to get rid of me.

“How long are these going to take?” I ask.

“Do you want to eat?”

I nod.

“Then however long I need them to,” he replies.

“Can’t you step away from them for a few minutes?”

Percy sighs dramatically. I ignore how hoarse it sounds. He turns around, wrapping his arms around my neck. “I guess,” he says, but he’s grinning.

I lean up to kiss him. Percy angles us away from the hot stove and leans against the counter, pulling me with him. He doesn’t do more than that though. We just stand there, kissing, and it feels so good and _normal_ that I almost forget everything else. I can forget that Percy might be dying (or so he says), that there are days when Percy can’t play his violin because he doesn’t have enough energy, that there are hospital bills piling up and I might need to get a second job to cover them because Percy—for obvious reasons—hasn’t been getting as many jobs playing lately.

The oven beeps but I don’t move. Percy has to gently push me off of him, laughing. “I thought you wanted to eat.”

“Debatable,” I say, sneaking in another kiss.

Percy rolls his eyes and pushes past me to turn off the stove and inspect the chicken and dumplings. He nods, pleased.

I get bowls and cups down from the cabinet, setting the bowls on the counter next to Percy and fill the cups with water. We sit at the table with the dinner Percy made unlike we’ve been able to do in a long time.

Percy must be thinking the same thing because he smiles at me. It’s a small, fond smile that still knocks me off my feet every time. I start to think that things may work out.

**I know delusion when I see it in the mirror**

**You like the nicer nurses, you make the best of a bad deal**

No matter how much you hope and fucking pray, things have a way of going wrong.

Three days later, we’re back in the hospital. Percy had a seizure and he stopped breathing. _He stopped breathing_ . He’s okay now, they think, but they’re going to observe him. The doctors think that the trouble breathing from pneumonia caused it along with the seizure and there isn’t a new, immediate problem to be worried about. I want to ask how my husband _not breathing_ isn’t an immediate problem, but he really does seem fine now. He coughs a lot and says his back hurts like hell, though these things aren’t new.

I’m in the bathroom at the hospital, pulling myself together. Sometimes you just need to have a meltdown in a hospital bathroom. I brace my arms on the sink and meet my own tired eyes in the mirror. I’ve hardly slept for the past two days.

It’s only near seven but Percy is already asleep. He has a lot less energy since his seizure. It kills me to see him like this.

When I get back to his room, Percy is half-awake, getting his vitals checked.

“Hey,” I say, kissing his temple before sitting in The Chair.

The nurse checking his vitals seems new. He’s older, tall with short dark hair. He doesn’t seem like he smiles a lot but when he does, it’s with a sympathy that seems too real to be rehearsed.

“I don’t think we’ve met but I’m Pascal,” he says. “I’m going to be watching over Mister Newton for most of the rest of his stay.”

“Any idea how long that’ll be?” I ask, hopeful as I take Percy’s hand. Percy is still half-asleep and just squeezes my hand.

Pascal shakes his head. “The doctors aren’t sure yet. Your husband is still a bit unstable.”

“Oh,” I say. _Unstable_ is never a word I want to hear describing Percy.

“He seems to be recovering alright, though,” he adds, clearly trying to make things seem better.

I just nod.

“Well,” he says, “if you need anything, you only need to call.” He nods to us and steps out.

“I like him,” Percy says. “He’s nice.”

“Yeah, he is.”

**I just pretend it isn’t real**

Once Percy falls asleep again, I slip out of his room. I find his doctor, Dr. Robles.

“Doctor Robles,” I say, finding him at a nurse’s station. “Do you have a moment?”

He looks up from some paperwork. “Mister Newton,” he says. “That depends on what you need.” He gives me a friendly smile. I quite like Doctor Robles.

“I wanted to talk to you about Percy. Do you have any idea when he might be discharged again?” I ask.

Doctor Robles frowns and shakes his head. “I’m afraid not. Your husband’s condition has been too inconsistent for us to tell.”

“Oh,” I say. “What about just for a night?”

“What?”

I hesitate. “Our anniversary is coming up and I really wanted to do something special for him. You know he hates being stuck here and I really wanted to take him out . . .”

Doctor Robles frowns. I can see the wheels turning in his head. I’ve learned that Doctor Robles is a bit of a romantic. His wife died a few years ago during an incident at her research lab. He sympathizes with me and Percy. “Well . . .”

I stare at him, giving him my best _please-sir-take-pity-on-me_ smile that I don’t use nearly as much as I used to, but still works just as well. (The dimples haven’t gone anywhere.)

“Fine,” Doctor Robles sighs. “If he seems stable enough in a few days, I don’t see why not.”

 **I’ll paint the kitchen neon** , **I’ll brighten up the skies**

I toss folded clothes on Percy’s lap. “Get dressed.”

He looks up from his phone, sitting in the hospital bed. It’s our anniversary and we exchanged gifts this morning and I brought him non-hospital food for breakfast.

“Why?” he asks. I know he’s been pestering the doctors for the past few days about leaving. He’s been feeling better, subjectively. But I swore Doctor Robles to secrecy so as far as Percy knows, he’s still stuck here.

“We’re going out,” I say.

Percy perks up. “Can we do that?”

“Yep, I already cleared it with Doctor Robles. Now go get dressed.”

Percy grins and moves faster than I’ve seen him move in a week to get up and pull his clothes again. I can’t help noticing that he’s thinner than he used to be. Symptoms. Soon enough, he’s dressed and taking my hand, pulling me up out of the chair. “Let’s go. If I have to spend another second in here I _will_ lose my mind.”

I laugh. “Happy anniversary, love.” I kiss Percy’s cheek and then we’re off. Percy looks happier than I’ve seen him in a while as I lead him downstairs and out to the car. I let him pick the music and I expect Florence + The Machine because Percy never truly outgrew his highschool aesthetic, but he picks Taylor Swift.

I take him to his favorite sushi place where we spend so long the waitress practically shoves us out of the door. When we get back in the car, Percy turns to me.

“Please don’t make me go back yet,” he says, giving me his best attempt at pleading eyes.

“Not yet,” I say. “I know we did gifts this morning but I actually have one more thing that I hope can it all.”

“I literally have no idea how you can top today but go for it.”

I reach into the backseat and pull out a bag. “So, you know how we always talked about getting that portrait done . . .”

Percy’s eyes widen. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” I say, pulling the painting out of the bag. It’s gorgeous, if I do say so myself. The artist I commissioned did a fantastic job.

When Percy and I got married, there was one wedding picture that we both adored. It wasn’t done professionally. Felicity took it without either of us noticing. It was when we were dancing, after the first dance and the cake and everyone was just enjoying themselves. Percy and I were off to the side, just dancing with each other. Percy was saying something and I was smiling, staring at him like he was everything. He _is_ everything.

Felicity sent me the picture the next day and I loved it. Percy and I tried to get the picture printed but because Felicity took it on her phone, it wasn’t the best quality all blown up. I proposed getting it painted so we could have a large version to hang up and we both liked the idea but we never did. So I finally got it done. The painting is of us as we are in that picture, but the background is a sort of watercolor rainbow.

“What do you think?” I ask.

“I love it,” Percy says, voice wavering. He takes it from me and holds it up to look at it. I think he might start crying. Then, he sets it in the backseat, reaches over to take me by the neck, and kisses me like his life depends on it.

**I know I'll never get it, there's not a day that I won't try**

He kisses me for a long time. But then I feel the wetness on his cheeks and realize that he _is_ crying.

“Perce,” I murmur, pulling back. “Are you okay?”

Percy leans his forehead against mine, eyes screwed shut and tears on his cheeks, and shakes his head.

I need a moment to reorient myself. Things were good, _so good_ , for a few hours. And now Percy’s crying and I have no idea how to handle the sudden shift. Years of communication and therapy and I’m still thrown for a loop sometimes.

“Percy,” I say, reaching up to wipe tears off of his cheeks. “What’s wrong?”

He’s silent for so long I think he may not have heard me. Then he answers, so quietly I hardly hear him, “I’m scared, Monty.”

“What?” I ask. When Percy doesn’t answer, I move my seat back as far as it will go and do my best to pull Percy’s gangly body into my lap. It’s a little awkward with the steering wheel, but Percy doesn’t seem fazed. He presses his cheek to my shoulder and I hold him while he cries. “Look, I don’t know what’s going through your head right now,” I say, kissing Percy’s forehead. “But I’m right here and we’re going to—”

“I don’t want to die,” Percy says, his voice suddenly steady. A shudder goes through him.

“Y-You’re not going to. You’re not.”

“How do you _know,_ Monty?” he demands. He’s shaking like a leaf under my hands. “The doctors don’t even know! It’s not impossible!”

“You’re not going to die,” I say again. I don’t know who I’m trying to convince. “You’ve been feeling better.”

“But for how long? When will it get worse again?” Percy sighs. “Almost since this all started I’ve been telling myself I would be ready. I told myself that, if it happened, I would be ready for it. I’ve done everything I’ve wanted to since I was in high school. But I still want to do more things. I’m not even thirty yet. I want to have a life with you as your husband where I haven’t been sick for a third of the time.”

“We can do that, Perce. This won’t be forever.”

“Monty, you can’t fix this. I know you want to and I appreciate it but you can’t fix this.”

“That won’t stop me from trying.”

He continues like he didn’t hear me. “I still feel like I wasted more than half of my life being scared and closeted and depressed, watching you being scared and closeted and depressed—”

“Woah there.”

“—and now it’s all about to be over. Maybe I’m just spending my last year or so in hospital rooms, choking down pills, and waiting. I don’t want to do this, Monty.”

“I know, love,” I say. I feel like I’m out of words. I kiss Percy’s forehead again.

“Do you really think things will get better?” Percy asks, softly, after a long silence.

“I do,” I say. “I think we just have to give it some time.”

**And I say to you...**

**Ooh-ah**

**Soon, you'll get better**

**Ooh-ah**

**You'll get better soon**

**'Cause you have to**

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Longest Road](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22709875) by [pinstripedJackalope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinstripedJackalope/pseuds/pinstripedJackalope)




End file.
